Page:The Magic Carpet Magazine Volume 03 Number 03 (1933-07).djvu/17

 known him off and on for some years. He's in it for a vacation and has a split in the proceeds. He couldn't put up as much as he'd thought, at the last minute, so we got Rapp into it."

"Yeah?" Cleghorn eyed him sardonically. "Thought you knew your way around better'n all that!"

The other started. His eyes lit up sharply, keenly.

"Eh? What are you driving at?"

"I dunno," said Cleghorn. "But there's something fishy back of all this. If I were you, I'd keep mighty quiet, and watch out sharp. And don't go leaning over the rail on dark nights."

"You're crazy!" scoffed Darby.

"Well, suit yourself." Cleghorn shrugged. Darby looked from one to the other of them, grunted, and left the bridge.

Marie Silva's anxious gaze went to Cleghorn. "You have some idea about it. What is it?"

"Can't tell, Marie. Looks to me as though Darby had been neatly taken in by three crooks. Can't see any reason for it, though, and so far as the game itself goes, they may all be simply playing it their own way. Darby's the last person in the world to be shystered."

"So any one would think," she assented dryly.

appeared on the bridge, touched his cap, and asked if he might make up the girl's cabin. She nodded, and he departed. Then Horton came up, a moment later, saluted Marie, and gave Cleghorn a glance.

"All set, sir. Shall I take over, now?"

"No. It's your watch off; keep it so."

"The chief wanted to see you, sir."

"Tell him to come up here, then."

Horton departed, and Marie Silva presently left the bridge also. Cleghorn, keeping an eye on the course, exchanged a word or two with the bleary rascal at the helm, who gave his name as Martin.

"Quartermaster in the B. P. line, sir—once," said the man.

"Australia, eh?" Cleghorn stared out at the horizon. Rapp had mentioned Australia; probably came from there originally. "Hm! Peterson said he knew you down that way."

Martin darted a sharp look at his expressionless face.

"Well, that was some years ago, sir," returned the man.

Cleghorn's pulse leaped, but he ventured nothing more. The red thatch of Macintyre was rising on the ladder, and he went outside to meet the young chief engineer.

"What's on your mind, Mac?"

"Nothing much. Only I can't find hide nor hair of old Charley Gray."

Cleghorn frowned. "What d'you mean? Assistant engineers don't vanish, do they?"

"Never knew 'em to before this, cap'n. He's nowhere aboard, unless he's stowed away somewhere in a bunker. And a queer thing happened, too." Macintyre hesitated, then went on. "You know that nice new Browning pistol I got in Hong Kong, last thing? Well, it's gone."

"What d'you mean? You think Charley took it and jumped overboard to spite you?"

Mac’s eyes had no laughter in them.

"Well, it looks that way, for a fact. That gun was under my pillow last night, and it's gone now."

"Oh!” said Cleghorn. "Steward cleaned up your cabin? Go ask where he put it."

"I just asked him," said Mac. "He knows nothing about it. Swears up and down there was no gun under my pillow when he made up the berth."